


carry out

by wesninskids



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Grinding, Just... porn I guess, Kind of..., M/M, Public Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesninskids/pseuds/wesninskids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren likes to think grinding in public toilets with a perfect stranger and alcohol in his blood is a good idea.<br/>Also titled: Eren is aggressively making out with this very same dude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	carry out

**Author's Note:**

> For Nick.

You know, that’s not how I would have imagined my first handjob. That’s not how I would have imagined my sex life at all. Wasn’t even sure I would have one because, you know, drowning in your little comfort is enough. All you need is there: you’ve got porn to watch, you don’t even have to pay and it doesn’t matter if you’re a scared virgin or a freaking perv, because in the end, it’s always the same thing. Generally, it ends up with a wet, disgusting tissue and stinking hands, but you’re too relaxed, sleepy and post-modern to care. People can’t hear you. And if they do, they’ll piss themselves at the thought alone of mentioning it in front of you. You know what sucks? People. People and their fucking conventions, people and their self-constructed rules they don’t even follow because, who would. People, but also being so horny that, by the time you find the perfect creatures, the perfect (probably gay) title and the exact moment you want to see, you’re already coming like a middle schooler who’s never seen anything else than magazine boobs and their own dick. That, sucks. No pun intended.

I guess timing does not matter anymore, when you’re stuck with a dangerously high level of alcohol in your blood and a perfect stranger in a public toilet, whose name you only know because he’s been repeating it for the past twenty minutes. You’re an asshole. You’re too drunk to remember anything: his name, your age, if you’ve got a driving license and if yes, is it your car, parked right there? You don’t know. I don’t know, because I’m fucking drunk and the worst is that it’s entirely the point.

Getting laid wasn’t my goal, I have to admit. I’d like to say it happened because I know how to charm a dude, a tattooed, well-knit kind of dude, who actually looks pretty nice. But hey, have you seen me? Everyone knows I’m gay since I’ve been too stupid to think that no one would notice the most visited sites on the family computer’s browser. Age: thirteen. Level of shame: Approximatively 100%. 

But it doesn’t matter, because right now, I feel like everything’s starting to make sense and a hand on a dick wouldn’t make a difference because I’m already mentally propelled in a dark, endless void of selfish pleasure. 

The only thing I’m sure of: I probably have no self-control when alcohol’s involved, and this fucking shitty cabin is too fucking small for the two of us. Also, I think I’m saying something. Am I? Yeah, probably. “Levi,” I say, “Levi,” I whisper, “Levi,” I moan, like it’s the only thing left and I’m holding onto it. Is it his name? Well, fuck me, it’s too late to stop at the details.

He may or may not be Levi, but we sure as hell are doing something big. Once again, no pun intended.

First, I hesitated. How is this shit working? Do you have to be selfish, too, or think about something else than your own dick for once? Hell if I know : my dick’s been the only thing that kept me company through my teenage years. Saying hi to a pretty similar one for the first time is like watching your own crap in the toilets before flushing it, wondering if you’re weird as fuck or if everyone’s doing it and no one’s bold enough to mention it. You’ll never know.

You know that you’re hard, and that he’s hard. He is, right? So what’s the problem? 

I tripped on the wet, filthy floor and almost ended up on the toilet. He caught my arm in extremis, leaving a red and white mark, but I was barely even noticing the pain. Alcohol was striking in, I felt hot, too hot; was it me or him or the fucking broken AC? Everything at once. Everything, and he sank down to catch my lips and wow, Eren, you’re too drunk to say no. You’d be an idiot to draw borders anyway, because you can already feel the painful pleasure twitching in your cock, and hey. Be generous. Let it out.

Responsibilities are bullshit. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows that at the exact moment where you’ll find a bit of freedom, you’ll fuck everything up. You can’t tidy your shit anymore. You’ll be out of toilet paper. You’ll be too lazy to cook and end up starving in your couch in front of a tele-reality show you can’t even bear, or outside buying fast food for the fifth time this week. You’re a loser and you don’t know how to wash your clothes, and that’s something you’re determined not to tell your mum. I’ll keep the secret. I’m the loser here.

Plates will stay on the table for hours and the trash will always be too full, because you won’t ever put the trash out (after all, you’re living at the sixth floor), but sex? Sex isn’t something that comes just like that, just because you’re legal and finally have your own big-ass bed in which you can throw anyone you want. You do not receive a mail on your porch, no one comes to your house and knocking on the door, there is no step guide book on how to lose your virginity. 

Yes, porn is good. Porn is always good. But nothing compares to the disgusting smell of a teenager sharing his dick with someone else. 

Before I could even try to think about what I was doing, I was already stuck between the green wooden wall, trembling under my weight, and what seemed like Levi’s body. He had enough strength to hold me there, unmoving and powerless, and I was drunk enough not to notice it or fight for control. 

I don’t really like to obey to people. It’s annoying, like someone’s punching your pride and you can’t let your frustration out without looking like an asshole or an idiot, or even both ; that’s why you shut up and take it on yourself, you take a deep breath and take a mental note not to ever forget this one time when this random dude asked you to do something you didn’t want to do. It’s life, it’s being an adult and still not having a choice, aside from when to go to bed or the amount of spaghetti you eat in a day: goddamn responsibilities. 

Pay the bills. Go to work. Earn the money you need to pay the bills. Then go to work again. And repeat, repeat, repeat.

But when someone’s taking control of your body in the most intimate, physical, sexual way possible, there is nothing to be irritated of. You’re like a ball of fire, waiting to explode, slowly gaining temperature and nerves, and it’s like you’re a fucking ticking bomb, ready to smash everything around you and yourself first. Levi knew how to do that. He know how to approach my skin and brushing it with his cracked, silent lips; he knew how to place his hands and how much strength he needed to put into it. He knew exactly when and how I’d be responding to every touch, every sensation, every word whispered somewhere in the distant silence, cut there and there by the choked vibrations of the music and the loud conversations you don’t have to be part of anymore. 

Levi’s talking. I don’t understand a fucking shit but, it’s alright. 

It’s alright because he doesn’t ask for an answer and just keep doing what he’s doing, kissing my neck, blindly searching for my hands and I myself didn’t know where they were. 

I was numb, numb of the mind and numb of the body, I was fully letting myself be the silent witness of my first sex experience, which for once, didn’t involve a clumsy hand and a tissue. I didn’t need a scenario or the name of my favourite pornstar, all I had to do was to stand there and survive through this. And it’s only when he slammed his torso against mine that I finally opened my eyes, realising at the same moment that I had closed them. 

“Do you have anything?” he asked me through the thick mist of my own pleasure. I had to wait a few seconds to actually understand his words, but pronouncing them was just as hard.

“No, I’m alright,” I just said.

He did a noise, something between the sigh and the light, soft laughter; but I was already too far away from there to give a damn. 

“No, not that,” he said, “I was talking about condoms. Do you have any?”

Levi asked it again, probably knowing I was way too lost to remember such a meaningless detail. I wasn’t the type of guy to go around with condoms in my pockets anyway, though I still had the hope of having an opportunity, mainly because a) high school was bad memories, the condoms-slipping-on-the-floor-during-class kind of bad memories, and b) I couldn’t even remember to take my keys with me. 

“Oh fuck it,” Levi continued. I realised as he talked how red he looked. Embarrassed, maybe, but I personally blamed the unbearably hot atmosphere. Both in literal and figurative ways.

By the time I could ask anything about what he meant, one of his hands (which one, that’s something I surely couldn’t tell) was on my crotch, slightly pressing against it through my clothes, and the surprise made me jerk my head against the wall. 

Maybe I would have embraced the pain if his hand hadn’t been pressing harder, firmly taking things in hand. Okay, that, was a pun.

Levi wore a grey t-shirt, too large for him but somehow soft enough for my fingers to get lost into it. I grabbed it somewhere on his back, held onto it like it was the only thing keeping me alive, and our noses smashed against the other when we tried to kiss. 

You know when your cock is twitching from all you’ve got and you know that, no matter where you are and coming from, you are so close that you can almost touch it? Nothing has ever been so abstract yet real. You wouldn’t be surprised to face Jesus’ balls but you sure as hell don’t know what an orgasm looks like. It’s not about beating your meat in your room at 4 am and opening your mouth and slowing down your pace because you can’t see shit. It’s good. It’s fucking good and you don’t care about anything other than the minutes separating you from this heavenly spasm, and how you’re so hard that you could come right here, right now, in his hand or yours, it doesn't even matter, because it’s so good that you can’t even hold back. 

I moaned, shamelessly; who would be there to remind me of this anyway? 

Yes, we had the risk of someone entering the room and being clever enough to notice the two pairs of feet dancing under the door, and the ragged breaths and the choked noises, and the whispering voices not quite clear, or the familiar sound of clothing against clothing. 

I opened my mouth to welcome his, which he willingly did, and I searched for his neck with my right hand as he pushed his between my feverish skin and the belt of my pants. He didn’t do anything at first, too concentrated in the kiss we were sharing, but then we parted and just like that, he plunged his hand in my pants. 

At first, it feels strange. Strange because, never have I welcomed a stranger’s hand in my pants, not hard, at least. And certainly not in public toilets, stinking fresh piss and old cleaning product. Strange because, wow, it feels so strong around it, like I’m giving it the right to break it off, to smash it under his fingers; yet he doesn’t. Levi just stands there, catching my gaze like he was waiting for some kind of permission, which is incredibly stupid. No one would be waiting for a permission, not in those circumstances. Not when it’s already way too late to move back and act like a sober coward. 

And then, it feels so overwhelming that I can’t breathe for a second or two. My breath’s lost in my throat, my lungs are blocked, everything’s hesitating between staying in or letting out. Breathe in, breathe out, Eren; it’s not about dying from a heart stroke during your first goddamn handjob. Deep down, I know I could, at any moment, be the first drunk, shaved and virgin college student to die at such a decisive moment. I can already see the headlines in the newspapers, and the terror on my parents’ face. Shame, too. If you’ve got a gay child, then he might as well get laid before ‘the’ day. 

I felt bold just for a moment, and my hands somehow got stuck on his ass, grabbing whatever he would allow to give me. Two plain, firm cheeks I was discovering for the first time, and man, it had nothing to do with the normal cheek stuff. Actually, this thing right now, has nothing to do with anything. Levi’s a total stranger, might be the strangest of the strangers I’ve met so far; yet I had never let anyone get so close to me, in both physical and spiritual ways. Yeah, I only know his name, I heard you say, but you don’t need to learn the fucking name of your furniture before sitting on your IKEA couch.

I breathed again when he let go of the pression in his hand, making me free of the manual friction I still wasn’t used to. But hey, it didn’t last long, because he started stroking my cock like you’d stroke your neighbour’s cat. Like it’s nothing. Like you’ve been born to stroke this cat. And honestly, I can give him that.

My head bumped into the wall behind me for the second time, and I swear I heard his laughter somewhere around me. It was warm and reassuring, reminded me of Armin’s, even though it wasn’t the perfect time to think about my best friend, and even though Levi and Armin, so far, were total contraries. Eren’s dick included.

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, and I finally allowed myself to let it out. To let this fucking moan out. I don’t know how it’s supposed to happen, what you’re supposed to do, because to be honest, porn cannot be trusted. You either look perverted by all the things you’ve seen and consider as normal; or you look like the virgin you actually are, unable to even do things correctly, trembling like a little girl approaching a spider to kill it, knowing perfectly it could jump on her face at any moment. Levi didn’t look like the guy who gave a damn about any of these theories, that’s why I chose to be bold again, the burning desire to hear him answering me exploding in my chest. Or stomach. Or everywhere.

My hand flew and I somehow found pleasure in the making. Especially when it landed right on Levi’s crotch, unexpectedly far from mine, considering how close it was a few moments ago; but the sound I got from that was worth everything. The first cigarette. The first porn magazine. The first time sneaking out. The first kiss, with, wait, it doesn’t matter. There’s a first time to everything, they say, and I can remember the exact moment where I made this gorgeous guy groan against my face. His breath was hot and jerky, almost like an old tape that refuse to work. An audio bug echoing against my ear, and in my mind, saved for later purpose. Probably one involving my right hand and a perfect tranquility. 

I pressed harder against his crotch, shyly refusing to grab anything, shyly admitting that I totally was the virgin I was supposed to be. Don’t give yourself fake ideas, a first time, whether it’s in a bed, with a woman or a man, with a hand, a mouth, an asshole or a vagina, it’s the same shit. You get scared easily, chest burning from both fear and pleasure. That’s some unhealthy mix, I’ll tell you. Wanting to piss yourself at the same time of having the purest orgasm you’ve ever had (and been given).

“Eren,” he said, and my mind stopped like someone pressing “pause” during a movie to go to the toilets. During this scene, yeah, this kind of scene, the one during which you should not be going to the toilets.

I thought, wow, he actually knows my name, too? Nice.

Eren, you’re definitely some kind of specimen. Ha. He got the booty, he got the hand and an eventual access to the Southern Hemisphere, and this genius managed to exchange names before any drunk and not-so-friendly contact. 

He knows your name, and you know his. So what, now? Do you want some fucking stickers? Do you want a cookie? You want someone to congratulate you because you made it to the base zero, a.k.a the one everyone’s supposed to pass and even the one that does not exist? Well, congrats, Eren, you made it to level up. Enjoy.

Really anything could happen right now. You could come just like that, in Levi’s hand, and regretting this moment for the rest of your life for not having waited a little bit more ; or you could get caught red-handed by some random dude entering the toilets, because hey, let’s be honest, you’re the furthest thing from discrete. Or one of you could die in the other’s arms, leaving a trauma big enough not to share dicks again, and a corpse to bury, of course. In the most predictable and embarrassing moment, though, your goddamn mum could call you right now, with your Simpsons’ ringtone, being the biggest cock-block you’ve ever had the honour to see. It’s up to you, it’s up to, you know, me.

Good thing is that Armin stole my phone the other night, and while bored, decided to change my ringtone to some indie song I didn’t even know. At best, I’d look like a fucking hipster. Second good thing is that I’m not close enough to come. I know by experience (translation : hours of intensive masturbation) my own limits and how far I am willing to go, even with a non-identified hand around my dick which feels, by the way, pretty great I’d say. 

Bad news are, the scenario in which someone enters the room not only happens in the movies, because it happened there, at the very same moment when Levi firmly grabbed my dick and started pumping it like it was a game. Levi’s breath was as fucked up as mine, but he still found a way to quiet the messy sound and gently pressed his free hand against my mouth to prevent any kiddo starter mistake. My hands left his crotch, satisfied enough with how content he looked (and sounded), and decided to grab something in his back, anything, literally anything that could be grabbed. I somewhat managed to grab some skin through his t-shirt, scratching it like motherfucking claws. He cringed against my shoulder and tried to stay silent, but I knew in the way he got quicker in his moves that he was totally going to keep that in mind for, I don’t know, later ref. For something he would have the opportunity to avenge.

The guy was whistling, probably drunk, too, and I heard the familiar sound of piss hitting ceramic. It’s only when I felt the need to moan again that I bucked my hips against his, desperately trying to find some friction. Surprisingly enough, he forgave my mistake and decided to give me that, and by that, I mean the exact thing I needed. A body, warm and as close to the void as mine, against which I could chafe and rub, waiting for the rest to go over the edge. He stubbed his whole body against mine, and I took it all: the weight of his shoulders, the weight of his muscles and torso, the weight of the hard cock awkwardly meeting mine through layers and layers of clothing. 

His hand didn’t stop once. Not even for a second. He never asked me to do the same, nor did he take a break to get his breath back or make me understand that I sucked at this. We were both drunk and craving the same thing, and that was some coincidence we were willing to take, mostly because it would be a waste to spend the rest of our evening apart and alone with only our own hands, but also because I could feel my desire for him growing as I gradually lost myself in each breath. Couldn’t quite tell what was the name of this fucking place. Or which day of the week. The number, and probably the month, too. I couldn’t tell if I had slept or not, if it was morning, though I was almost sure it was dark outside, because the music was way too loud for day people. 

“Eren, you fucking-“ he said when my lips landed on the hot, sweaty skin of his neck, aggressively searching for something to get a hold onto. I kept leaving traces there, traces of me, traces of my lips, my mouth, every muffled moan Levi would let me free, though he figured out it wouldn’t be enough, and soon covered my mouth again, knowing perfectly how weak I was. How fucking pathetic.

He was right. Because twenty seconds later, I was moving like a crazy mouse, trembling, deeply trying to meet his flesh, the one I now craved so hard it was painful to even breathe. I knew we were going to meet again, not because he had told me this, but because I had decided so. You don’t just meet a guy somewhere, give him a free handjob and even learn his name if it’s just to leave like that, not asking for anything in return, not even offering a drink or a phone number. Well, maybe yes. But the way Levi crashed against me, my back slamming hard against the wood, said otherwise. 

We were doing a shitty job at staying quiet, and that’s the kind of detail I didn’t bother with. I was there, ten seconds away from the perfect heaven I knew I could touch, and in a last, desperate move, I reached for his back, drawing him closer as both his body and his hand rutted against me. It felt nice. Really, really nice. 

The “orgasm” kind of nice.

I felt it like a goddamn explosion. Not even kidding. His hand painfully stopped at this very moment, leaving me alone with the overwhelming pleasure making me powerless, and I cried out into his hand, letting the wall his fingers were making keep the loud, strong noise clumsily choked. As for his other hand, well, I can’t really say it was intact. He probably had a hard time recovering the intense effort, and I knew for sure every orgasm ended in only one way possible: cum fucking everywhere. In this case, his hand was fairly enough. Probably wet my pants, too, but couldn’t bring myself to care because I was flying, tripping like a drug addict, trying so hard to remember my name as I disconnected to the reality, hearing as a last sound the mix of Levi’s final moan and the random guy slamming the door behind him.


End file.
